Lucky
by Crossroad Avarice
Summary: They keep repeating that word over and over, but all she feels is failure. Ahsoka/Rex


**Rila:** Mm, not sure where I came up with this. Bittersweet, I think. And an effort to enhance my writing. Hope this makes sense, let me know if it doesn't.

Word Count: 1,059

Disclaimer: _If I owned this, there'd be more detailing in relationships._

Description: They keep telling her that, and she feels anything but.

* * *

_Lucky,_ the med-droid tells her, in the one place she hates more than anything else. It smells too sterile, too much like like blood. Her blood, dried veins of it staining her skin with dark lines of red-brown and stench of copper.

There is the stiffness of a bacta patch and bandages on her shoulder, but it can't quite erase the ache of torn muscle and bruised bone. Her leg is a mangled mess, a sharp throb from it at regular intervals reminding her that it is still attached. It too is swathed in bandages, and is sure to leave scars. Her lekku ache, her montrals ring. The sound of blaster bolts still echo in them, along with the humming of her lightsabre and shoto.

Her fingers are numb, and it still feels like she's holding them both - even though Skyguy took them from her after she returned, easing her white-knuckle grip on them. The look in his eyes still haunts her, the concern and anxiety over her. And she finds that she doesn't like it - not now, when he should have been looking at her with anger. With disappointment.

Because even though the med-droid says she's _lucky_ and she'll only have to be in the medbay for a few _days_, she feels anything but _lucky_ and a few days sounds like _eternity._

The fact that she hasn't seen _him_ yet doesn't make her feel any better.

* * *

_Lucky_, she thinks. Lucky to have such a wonderful Master, even if there were things she didn't agree with him about. Lucky to be around, after all the suicidal missions he's dragged her into. She hears more than feels as his lightsabre nears her montrals, the sound all she can think of as it slices through her silka-bead Padawan braid.

It falls to the ground with a _clink_, and when she turns around, her Master is smiling at her. Master Kenobi is smiling too, and so are other familiar faces. And the feeling wells inside her, growing and growing until she too is smiling, smiling so hard it makes her cheeks ache.

And _he_ is smiling at her too, though that comes later when she shows off the lack of her Padawan braid. There is pride in his eyes, and something that says more than words can convey. Her heart does an odd _pitter-patter_ in her chest at the look, and she closes her eyes.

It is _lucky_, she decides, that no one sees them as they kiss, because surely they would be able to hear the _pitter-patter_ of her heart.

* * *

_Lucky,_ she hears them whisper, and she can't help but agree with them, even as her Master eyes her with the usual amount of concern. "Be careful," he tells her.

"I will," she answers, her mouth curving into a confident smile. He places a hand on her shoulder, and she enjoys the moment of connection, a bond that is still strong though they are no longer Master and Padawan. "See you later, Skyguy."

She will see _him_ later, and it's with a tinge of sorrow that she passes by him, feeling his gaze sweep over her. A part of her is wary because her Master is right there, but he says nothing when she turns to wave her farewell.

And then she turns, and it is _lucky_ that they have so much confidence in her, because it boosts her confidence when it begins to wane. She can do this, and she needs no artificial _luck._ She can make her own.

* * *

It is _lucky_ that she stays conscious long enough to keep them all from plummetting to their deaths. But too many, the Force whispers to her, too many have fallen. And she mourns for them in the silence that covers her, laying in a corner.

Someone asks if she's alright, and she nods numbly. It's a lie, because then there is a voice expressing concern over her leg. It's her left one, a mangled mess of torn sienna skin and bright, bright red blood.

The smell makes her dizzy, and the raw pain makes her vision swim and her head throb. It is _lucky_ that she remains awake, because someone else calls, "Clankers!"

And then she is up, blocking out the pain as she ignites her lightsabre and shoto. She cannot falter, not now. Not when there is a battle to be fought. Not when there is so much confidence in her abilities.

It is _luck_ that keeps her conscious until the end of the battle.

* * *

_Lucky._

She hates that word now, because it doesn't hold the same merit as it did before. She finds herself wanting to spit at the word, to curse it until it goes away. But she can't. She can do little but lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling in a blank reverie.

It is only when _his_ hand lands upon hers that she turns, her mouth curving into a cracked smile despite the concern in his gaze. "I'm alright," she tells him, and her tone is brittle as she adds, "they said I'm _lucky._"

She feels anything but, and she confesses it in a hushed whisper heavy with pain and tears. The tears slip down her cheeks, and her shoulders shake as her forehead finds the junction of his neck and shoulder. He's wearing fatigues, the fabric soft and thin enough to where she can feel his warmth through it.

It is _lucky_, she decides, no matter how much she hates the word, that he did not accompany her on the mission that nearly became her end. Because she cannot entertain the thought of losing him, for fear of making it real.

His fingers are gentle on her back, his words a soft rumble of comforting words. And it is _lucky,_ she concludes, that she has someone like Rex.


End file.
